


I Shouldn't Leap (But, God, Do I Love the Fall)

by TheLastTactician



Series: I Won't Leave You Like This (I Promise I'll Hold You Up) [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, Female Stiles Stilinski, Gen, Minor Consent Discussion (regarding Werewolf Bites), Pack Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7898977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastTactician/pseuds/TheLastTactician
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pack is more complicated than saying 'yes, I'm in'.  And it's certainly more complicated than 'I don't particularly wish to see you dead'.  Stiles knows that.  Now it's just time for her to get everyone else to see that too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Shouldn't Leap (But, God, Do I Love the Fall)

_The dream was as familiar as it was painful. Stiles stood in the middle of a blindingly white room, a soft beeping noise in the background. Her small hands – too small for sixteen – touched starchy bedsheets and she stretched up onto her toes. She pulled back the white sheets only to see the skeletal face of her mother – cold and unseeing. The beeps turned into the ticking of a clock, louder, and louder. The room faded to a dark grey. It's the middle of the night, and Stiles can hear her father sobbing in the living room. The crash of a bottle. She's crying too. Everything's going dark, the ticking grows louder, and Stiles can't breathe –_

 

She woke with a start, her hair falling over her face as she pushed herself into a sitting position. Immediately, her right arm pulsed angrily before it gave out and she fell onto her side, a whoosh of air escaping her. In the cool darkness of her room, Stiles let herself lie there for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe through the pain. Her skin goosebumped as a draft whispered through the curtains and she couldn't quite manage to stomp down on the shiver. It wasn't until her arm began to throb that Stiles finally managed to lever herself up, crushing the whimper in her throat before it could fully manifest.

 

Gingerly, the girl brushed her fingers lightly against the thickly bandaged appendage. Memories of the previous twelve hours raced back through her mind and Stiles couldn't help the sigh that heaved through her, turning into a pained hiss as her ribs stretched painfully. Carefully, the teen climbed to her feet and began to limp down through the house and towards the kitchen, where they kept Advil.

 

The house was dark, it being only around three or so in the morning. And Stiles desperately wished she could keep the silence in her mind a little longer, it was a soft spot with her ADHD. A small moment in time, just after she woke, when everything was calm. When trying to avoid certain topics, her ADHD was sometimes like a painful sore, always willing to drag the worst into light.

 

Filling a glass with water, Stiles sipped it before placing it on the counter and rooting through the cupboard. She didn't want to think about Gerard or Scott or the Hales or any of them. She didn't want to deal with this shit right now. But she had to, and as she downed two pills in one, Stiles couldn't help but think about what had gone down.

 

Lydia had succeeded in pulling Jackson back from the brink with some nauseating love shit, and Scott managed to poison Gerard while also stating the Hales would never be his pack. From there, everything got a little blurry. She dimly remembered swaying and then her knees giving out, and she remembered somebody caught her – Erica maybe? Erica had been closest. From there, someone else had lifted her up and she dimly remembered being slid into the camaro (at least she assumed it was the camaro) and then nothing. She woke up here.

 

Swallowing some more water, Stiles dumped the rest down the sink and placed her cup in the dishwasher before heading back upstairs. A snore stopped her and Stiles glanced towards the living room to see her father passed out on the couch, a tumbler sitting on the floor, his fingers barely touching the rim. Biting her lip, the girl carefully tiptoed in and took the tumbler and scotch bottle away before gently placing a blanket over her father. From there, she went back upstairs, leaning heavily on the railing. By the time she made it into her bedroom, most of her aches had numbed considerably and sleep was tugging at her eyelids. Sliding under the covers, Stiles was asleep in less time than it took to find a comfortable spot.

 

The week passed quietly. In a way, Stiles was grateful. Her father didn't push her to go back to school, merely taking her to the hospital for a couple of X-rays and then allowing her to take the week off. It helped, honestly. She spent the time playing video games and watching shitty television, even did a bit of homework. Stiles knew that she needed it, some time to be normal and get herself back together after being abducted and attacked.

 

But she also felt isolated, and a little hurt. Especially as she didn't know if she was more hurt from Scott's silence or from Derek's. Well, not Derek – more like Erica and Boyd. But still – Scott was supposed to be her best friend and he either doesn't realize she was badly injured (on his behalf!) or he didn't think to call her. Plus, Derek said she was a kinda-maybe-sorta part of the pack – had he been lying?

 

If he was lying – well – it had been a damned good lie. And she was only slightly ashamed to say that she had fallen for it: hook, line, and sinker. She knew she had no real reason to be ashamed, as he was older and she knew her insecurities shone like the fucking sun. But that didn't mean she wanted to look weak and vulnerable in front of some asshat who was just playing her. So yeah, his silence was totally uncalled for and hurt like a bitch. Even if she wished it didn't bother her it fucking did. But what could she do? If she went over to confront him, she risked getting even further humiliated and, well, she also didn't really trust them not to do that to be honest.

 

The was the other thing. Stiles didn't really know if she trusted them. One night of them telling her she's important wasn't enough to make her fall in love – er, pack. She saved their furry asses before and it hadn't mattered – why should she really believe them now? Still... it would be nice for her to be valued for what she could for once. She had that before, with Scott, when they were both human and dorky. But now, Scott was... he wasn't the same and it sucked.

 

So yeah, the week did manage to have quite a bit of suckitude. In fact, the more Stiles thought about it, the more depressing the week came to be. So she couldn't help but feel incredibly impatient come Sunday night, eager for Monday morning and school (which is a gross feeling but it is what she felt).

 

“Fuck.”

 

The feelings weren't so eager to stick around when she had to get up at six-thirty, however. Her body ached and dragging herself out of bed was a hassle. If she hadn't worried that she'd have to put it back together again later – she'd probably have chucked her alarm at the wall just to shut it up. Showering didn't suck as much, as her scrapes were scabbing and Stiles had since learnt how to move with her injuries. But having to climb out into the cold, and then get dressed in a pair of her old jeans (worn at the hems, white at the knees, and loose at the waist), and her softest flannel shirt (red and black, pulls in tight at her chest, but falls passed her belt and loose in the arms), was a bitch of a time. She felt like an old woman, all aches and pains that multiply tenfold in the cold.

 

Limping her way through her room (which had been cleaned on day three of her slightly self-imposed solitude), Stiles took care to gather her books and notes and shove them into her backpack. Her charger for her phone was the last thing to get thrown in before she hefted the bag with a wince and left her room. Her morning routine had always consisted of exactly three things since she was twelve. Shower for twenty minutes, decide of what to wear for a maximum of ten, and then coffee. Sometimes coffee came first, but usually it was last. Particularly on days like today.

 

The kitchen was empty when she got downstairs, and Stiles couldn't exactly say she was surprised. Her dad had been pulling doubles (and triples), since the kanima massacre in the police station, which meant that he was rarely around. When he was, the sheriff had become a looming and glooming mess of her father. Mostly staring at her with worried eyes and a quick hand to help. Which, well, she didn't entirely mind the extra attention. But still, a girl's gotta have some space and the looks made guilt churn in her belly like a particularly nefarious, cannibalistic worm.

 

Okay that one got a little away from her.

 

Still, the good thing about her father being on early in the morning meant that he had time to set the coffee machine for his daughter. Which meant Stiles didn't need to drive to an overcrowded coffee shop first thing in the morning to buy her own. In any case, she pours a generous amount into a thermos and caps it before swinging her bag over her shoulder (wincing when it crashes into her bruised spine with too much force) and heads out the door.

 

The drive was boring, parking was a mess because fuck people who can't park, and walking to the doors was a bitch because everyone likes to gossip. Especially about the sheriff's daughter who hasn't been to school in a week and who shows up covered in bruises and looking like she went ten rounds with a professional boxer. It also didn't help that as soon as she showed up, Erica Reyes, Isaac Lahey, and Vernon Boyd gravitated towards her like she was catnip and they were cats. Dogs. Wolves. Whatever.

 

“Huey. Dewey. Louie.” She greeted with her characteristic snark and smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Are Donald and Scrooge stuck in another terrible misadventure?”

 

“Only if you mean that they're stuck together,” Erica shot back, her beautiful eyes wary.

 

“Literally?”

 

“Figuratively.”

 

“Damn, that would've been hilarious,” the idea did amuse her but after a moment, Stiles shook her head, “nah, maybe not. Too much shit in that family for it to end in anything but a blood bath.”

 

The walk to her locker was awkward. Possibly because she had three supernaturally hot werewolves (ha) trailing her footsteps like lost ducks and making the entire school stare at her. Stiles had the stray thought of making a face at someone just to see what they would do but she quickly squashed that down as she began twirling her shitty lock.

 

“You haven't been to school in a week.”

 

“In other news, water is wet.”

 

Erica scowled at her. “We were worried.”

 

“You should have called then,” Stiles rolled her eyes, a shiver of fury rolling down her spine. “I've got shit to do.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like being a teenager, ever heard of it? It generally doesn't involve shitty people insisting they're your pack before refusing to text.”

 

“Well you didn't text either. We were giving you space.”

 

“Yeah, because I was going to text the assholes who hit me with parts of my own car and threatened bodily harm for shits and giggles?” Stiles gave them a dry look. “You can claim we're all buds as much as you want. Doesn't mean I'm going to believe you just cause you looked at me real sad.”

 

“Like Scott?”

 

The fury turned into cold anger and she shut her locker with a sharp snap. “Scott has special circumstances. Doesn't mean I'm gonna take it for long. But it also doesn't mean I have to put up with it at all coming from you.”

 

Erica and Isaac looked pissed. For different reasons Stiles imagined, but it was Boyd who spoke up. “Come with us to Derek's after school.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because it's what pack does.”

 

Stiles cocked a brow as the bell rang. “Doesn't change my question.”

 

Boyd shrugged. “This is us extending the hand. You take it, or you don't.”

 

It was silent for a time before the final bell rang, marking them as properly late. Even still, the four were sluggish to move. It felt like weakness for Stiles to go first, and it felt like backing down for them to go. So they stood in an awkward semicircle for a beat too long before they all left at once. All feeling unsatisfied and irritated in bursts.

 

School sucked, and Stiles suddenly wanted to kick her yesterday self for being so eager to go. The promise of a good university and leaving shitty Beacon Hills, however, was too good to pass up and thus school was an unfortunate necessity. (She had been thinking about that lately; leaving, that is. She wanted to leave this shitty small town but she also wanted to stay. The promise of a pack was nice – still a bit of a pipe dream – but nice. And it complicated matters. So she devoted herself to Not Thinking About It.) More drama ensued at lunch (because of course), in the form of Lydia sitting down across from her before Stiles had even really managed to figure out where she had sat.

 

“I want information.”

 

“Don't we all.”

 

“Don't be coy with me, Stilinski.”

 

“Don't be a bitch to me, Martin.”

 

Stiles knew that she was being unfair on some level but at the same time, for all that she had had a serious crush on Lydia for ages, she was seriously done with being everyone's punching bag. She had no sense of self-preservation after getting her ass handed to her. So fuck it.

 

Lydia inhaled deeply through her nose, her hair falling perfectly in front of one eye so that when she flicked it back, it made her look all the more in control. “I need to know what has been going on for the past year and-or longer. And I need you to tell me.”

 

“See, I could do that. I could also ignore you and tell you to fuck off.”

 

“If this is some petty revenge – ”

 

“Neither of us is that stupid, Lydia, knock it off.”

 

The other girl narrowed her eyes. “So what is this about?”

 

Stiles looked at her. “You seem to have the rest of it figured out. What do you need me for? Confirmation? Allison's your pal, ask her.”

 

“Yeah, and not us,” Erica interjected rudely as she snapped her tray onto the table, pushing into the seat next to Stiles. Boyd and Isaac trailing behind her.

 

“'Us'?” Stiles scowled. “Who's 'us'? No, fuck off, I can handle myself. Shut your mouth, Reyes, Jesus fuck.”

 

Lydia looked haughty. “Indeed.”

 

“ _No_ , Stiles runs with us, you don't talk – ”

 

Stiles left.

 

It wasn't her usual approach, and it didn't solve anything (actually, it just added the problem of hunger) but it was her only option in the time. Arguing against supernatural beings is a little difficult when you know that they have little control and will probably throw you into a wall. She didn't quite expect Lydia to follow her, however.

 

“I need information to be able to handle all of this,” Lydia said simply as they strolled through the halls. “I know you understand that.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So?”

 

Stiles sighed and lead Lydia into an empty classroom before hopping onto a desk and rubbing at the back of her neck. “Look, nothing I'm going to tell is going to sound good or real. But you already know some fucked up shit is happening. So I'm proposing this: I give you information and then you and I weed out all the bullshit until we get more information than anyone else in this twisted game.”

 

“Why should I help you?”

 

“Besides the fact that you need my information?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Because we're humans stuck in a fucked up situation and we are sorely outmatched.”

 

And that's how Lydia found out.

 

With a lunch lasting only forty-five minutes, it's a touch difficult trying to get all the necessary information out there. But they muddle along, even with time for Lydia to ask rapid-fire questions. By the time they're done, Lydia looks appropriately steely-eyed and just gives a swift nod and her number to Stiles before leaving. Then she opened the door and approximately three werewolves tumbled in. Well, not tumbled. Boyd didn't tumble. Isaac and Erica definitely stumbled. Scott would have tumbled. Scott wasn't here.

 

“Where is Scott?”

 

In her defence, she didn't exactly plan the words to come waterfalling out of her mouth. But she definitely regretted it by the pitying looks Lydia gave her and suddenly guilty one on Isaac's face. Stiles nodded, something like hurt twirling around her spine. He was here; of course he was. He was just refusing to pay attention to the other werewolves and by default, refusing the pay attention to Stiles. The girl took a deep breath and tugged on her hair in frustration before shrugging.

 

“Whatever. Look, Lydia – is Jackson hanging around with Derek now?”

 

The strawberry blonde rolled her eyes. “Yes. Not that either of us really want to, but we accept that it's a necessity now.”

 

“Alright, look, I'll be there after school today. If somebody needs a ride, I can take them. Otherwise, I want everyone to give me space for the rest of the day. Period. We clear?”

 

The group shrugs and nods and Lydia leaves with a flick of her hair. Then, Stiles' day goes silent. She's not entirely sure what she was expecting – well, she was sort of expecting the puppies to ignore her and continue to follow her around. But they don't. It's what she asked for, however. And without her followers, Stiles actually gets a moment to look for Scott.

 

She finds him hanging out with other people on the lacrosse team and generally looking downtrodden. A part of her wants to go to him, to talk to him and make it better. But Scott hadn't texted her in a week, and he never bothered to ask if she was okay. So she didn't. Her grudge keeping skills were getting impeccable. Towards the end of the day, Stiles sent her dad a message that she was hanging out with Erica and Boyd before getting to her locker and moving towards her car. At some point, she picked up a shadow in the form of Boyd before getting in and leaving for the preserve.

 

“Depot?”

 

“Mmm.”

 

Was the extent of their conversation up until Stiles pulled into a gas station and pumped the car. “You want anything?”

 

“What?”

 

“Sweet stuff, pop, chips. I don't know. What do you like?”

 

Boyd gave her an odd look before shrugging. “I like skittles.”

 

“Excellent choice.”

 

She bought a bottle of dr.pepper and a bag of starbursts (along with Boyd's skittles) before getting back into the car and continuing on. They got to the depot last (unsurprising as the Jeep wasn't really prepared to race a porsche or a camaro), and parked before climbing out of the car and heading in.

 

“Has anyone suggested actually, like, fixing this place?” Stiles asked idly as they pushed open the doors. “You know, some TLC, some paint, a bit of walls, maybe?”

 

“I think Derek is allergic to the idea,” Erica snickered. “Wait – why does he have skittles?”

 

“Cause he was with me.”

 

“Bullshit! I thought I was your favourite!”

 

“Doesn't stop the fact that you weren't with me,” Stiles shrugged.

 

Boyd, the asshole, merely tore into the package and ate the candy as Reyes sputtered, her pretty face going rage red. Stiles, as had been her theme for the day, ignored them and traipsed through the depot with single-minded intensity, leaving a petty trail of starburst wrappers as she went.

 

Derek was found in the middle to the depot, impressive arms folded across his chest as he and Jackson glared at each other. The latter seemed none the worse for wear after his kanima episode, barring the minute trembling and general fear in his face. He hid it well, to his credit, but if Stiles saw it – she's pretty sure the rest of them saw it too. Lydia was nearby, but she kept her back to the wall and Jackson between herself and Peter – who seemed far too amused by the entire situation (Stiles made a mental note to deal with that later).

 

“So,” her voice was disgustingly cheery, “we're all here. Our happy little family right on the neighbourhood of make-believe. Do you all think Mr. McFeely will be by some time soon?”

 

“What?”

 

“Did none of you watch Mr. Rogers as kids? Plebeian, all of you.”

 

Derek turned his unimpressed glare onto her and she gave him her best pretty little darling smile before ruining it thoroughly by tossing another starburst into her mouth. Glancing around the room, she chewed it and considered her options.

 

“Now,” she said after a moment, “I'm here. We're here. It's great, _fantastic_. Why am I here?”

 

“It's pack.”

 

“How utterly _descriptive_ , Lahey. You get four points. Does anyone _else_ want to specify the purpose of this little get-together?”

 

Peter, the bastard, laughed as Derek's looked soured impressively further. “Pack bonds need to be strong,” he grunted. “Which means we need to spend time together in order to do that.”

 

“Cool, cool. Derek gets a grand total of _seven_ points. Aren't we all impressed?”

“Stiles...”

 

“Let's continue, shall we? How about I get a little more pointed about my question. _Why the fuck would I want to be part of your pack_?”

 

Now, it should be noted that Stiles wasn't a generally rage-y sort of person. Anger was easy for her, something she affected and suppressed and converted into a snarky sort of intelligence that was going to force you to kick your own ass. But, given the circumstances, Stiles felt her rage was more than perfectly acceptable.

 

“Let me rephrase,” she kept her smile painfully benign, “every single one of you has either attacked, assaulted, intimidated, or threatened me at some point in this fucked up little journey. Yet somehow, I am now supposed to be considered pack. Which then makes me ask – why should I trust you? Why should I believe you're not just using me? And why should I even bother to attempt being part of this little fucked up after-school special?” Stiles took a breath before tilting her head, never dropping her smile. “More succinctly: what the fuck do _I_ get out of this, and what the fuck do _you_ get out of this?”

 

Analyzing responses was something she had done most of her life. Why did her dad flinch when her mother said this word? What was the doctor not-saying so as not to frighten them? Why was her mother telling her she loved her every ten minutes? That sort of thing.

 

So when Stiles looked around the room, she catalogued each expression carefully. Lydia was looking both intrigued and carefully casual – she wanted the same questions answered but she also didn't want to make herself a target like Stiles. Jackson still looked frightened, but he seemed to find something strengthening in her rage, and had straightened up. Isaac had flinched away from her, eyeing the exits but also watching Derek curiously. Erica looked... guilty? But also angry. Seriously, that child needed to learn another outlet for her fucking emotions. Boyd was stoic, but guilt and curiosity also warred in his eyes. Guilty of his treatment of her, but wondering the same thing perhaps? Most likely. Peter, the bastard, looked amused as fuck and his eyes glittered uncomfortably as he glanced between his nephew and her. Derek...

 

Derek was trying for stoic. For someone else, maybe it would be working. But Stiles had spent too much time watching him do the same fucking thing to be fooled by it now. He looked... frightened. Genuinely frightened, and perhaps a little impressed? He certainly looked angry and stoic on the surface – but there was fear underneath it.

 

“Pack is... complicated.”

 

Stiles clapped her hands together once, her smile falling into an unimpressed look. “Ten points, Derek. You're at _seventeen_ points now, buddy. You're doing great .”

 

“Stop it,” he snapped. “I'm trying to... to articulate.”

 

She raised her hands and gestured at him broadly. “Give it to me.”

 

The man began to pace, shoving away from Jackson like the teen physically repulsed him. She watched him for a few minutes, popping another starburst in her mouth as she did so. Stiles was content to let him think, to give him that time, as long as it lead somewhere .

 

“Pack is complicated for humans,” he began, “for wolves it strengthens us. It gives us a focus and a sense of community. We're social creatures, to a greater degree than humans – we need that social element in order to focus. It consumes us.”

 

“It's why omegas go crazy,” Peter added loftily. “We instinctively crave the basics – home, family, friends, love, pups. Some more than others, and some place higher value on some of those values and not all. A wolf might not want children, for example, but still need the familial ties.”

 

“We call them pack bonds,” Derek told her, crystalline green meeting molten gold. “When you're a wolf you can... feel them. Almost like a limb. With enough mental practice and control, we can tug on them and call others to us. It feels like us shifting, almost, or moving your arm. Just thinking about it doesn't perform the action – but how do you explain doing it?”

 

“Okay,” Stiles nodded, sucking on a candy. “So wolves need it and to lose a pack bond would be like losing a limb – would you get something similar to phantom limbs?”

 

“Yes.”

 

She winced lightly. “Right, sorry. Okay so – that's why Derek went bite-happy?” He grimaced and she took it as an affirmative. “Alright, so you said that you had humans in your pack – what do they get out of it?”

 

“It depends on the human. Our – the Hale pack was a family unit. The gene is dominant but not necessary... similar to having green eyes over blue. It's not so dominant like dark hair or eyes, but it will usually win out over blue genes. So some of the children weren't wolves.”

 

“Okay. But what about humans who chose to join this pack? You get stronger, saner, and naturally want a family unit when I'm around. Why should I want to be around you?”

 

“You like us?”

 

Erica's voice was petulant and sulky, and she glared at Stiles. The human rolled her eyes obviously, firmly, and very clearly directed at the blonde.

 

“Sure,” she drawled, “let's just ignore the threatening, intimidation, assaults, and beatings, shall we? Beyond that – let's ignore my very human ass getting targeted by very dangerous hunters because I know a few assholes who like the fucking moon. Let me just waltz onto a fucking highway – it would be safer.”

 

Erica flushed, angry and embarrassed, and knowing Stiles was right. While Derek's hands spasmed, the big guy looked lost and just as angry as the blonde. Both had to acknowledge her point. Surprisingly, it was Peter who answered her.

 

“It depends on the human. Sometimes, humans fall in love with wolves but wish to stay human – sometimes it's a very close friend. Sometimes the human is partially supernatural themselves and attach themselves to werewolves simply because.”

 

“Like Deaton?”

 

“Precisely. As to what they get? Well, again, depends on the human. Frankly, you gain access to pack bonds and you might get lupine qualities. Mostly bleed-through from the wolves, and generally all within human capabilities. You might gain better night vision, not to the extent of a medical anomaly and thus, not as good as our own – but it would be better generally. Same goes with healing, hearing, sight, and more. Our qualities get passed onto you – but generally that only happens with very strong bonds to multiple wolves, or an exceptional bond with one. Weak bonds will do nothing.”

 

“So what you're saying is that I get some shit – but basically the choice comes down to if I like you all enough to be part of your ragtag bullshit.”

 

His eyes glittered and he smiled at her, like she had done a very pretty trick. Derek looked at her flatly, no guile in his eyes as he answered.

 

“Stiles, it's a family sort of thing. You cannot be forced. Your reasons have to be your own, just as ours is to accept you. The others – Peter, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, and Jackson – they don't have much choice. They need a pack. They could leave if they wished but they  _need_ a pack. Lydia loves Jackson and clearly wishes to stay with him, and as his anchor that is mutual. So she becomes pack through him and, with time, it could become that she attaches herself to the rest of us. But you – ” he cut himself off with a frustrated noise and resumed pacing.

 

“You, Stiles,” Peter's words slipped over the S's in her name like oil on water, “have weak bonds to some. Erica and Boyd being the strongest, but then weaker ones to Derek, Lydia, and Isaac – the weakest one with myself. You have no bond with Jackson, and your bond with Scott is marginally better than Erica and Boyd's. You formed them through conversations, through weak friendships, through saving some lives, and through both parties being academically curious about the other. Your natural wish to see others live has formed most of these bonds and strengthened others. You could stay – join our pack, become stronger, learn more about the world you're clearly interested in. Or you could go. The latter would be the smarter option,” (“Peter!” Derek barked) “but not one you're particularly inclined to.”

 

Fuck the bastard and toss him into the goddamn ocean for being right, Stiles thought. She did want to learn more, and the thought of being in a pack was fascinating and frightening by turns. She didn't particularly want to bury her head in sand like Scott did – but neither did she wish to die. Peter drifted closer, and she let him – her peripheral picking up on Jackson shifting his body to keep Lydia behind him.

 

“I don't trust you're being honest,” she told him flatly.

 

“A wariness that has served you well, and we have earned.”

 

“I don't think you can protect me.”

 

“We can't yet.”

 

“I want more information.”

 

“I'd be fascinated by what you learn, and what you do with it.”

 

“Scott.”

 

The older man paused again, his head tilting. He was close enough that she had to look up, and it just now registered that Derek had moved closer as well – the other man close enough to place a hand on his uncle's shoulder.

 

“What do you want to do about Scott?”

 

It was Derek who asked and she considered the question carefully as she looked at him.

 

“He's my friend.”

 

“He betrayed us.”

 

“He did. But he's been my brother since we were small.”

 

“I don't trust him.”

 

“I'd think you stupid if you did.”

 

“But you want to help him.”

 

“No one else is. He won't let them besides. Won't it cause _more_ problems if I don't?”

 

“Possibly.”

 

“You don't want him in your pack.”

 

“I want my pack _stable_.”

 

There was the crux of it, and Stiles couldn't fault him. She was loyal to Scott out of respect for their history, and to their old relationship. But Peter had pointed out that their bond was only slightly stronger than the one she held with Erica and Boyd. That wasn't something that could be ignored, and it didn't happen overnight. She wanted to protect Scott, she loved him deeply, but she also knew that there was something for her here . Something tenuous and fragile but very, very enticing.

 

“We need ground rules.”

 

“What?”

 

Stiles met his eyes, flickering briefly to Peter before she met that crystalline green once more. “Ground rules,” she repeated. “For this pack. Because I need to know I'm going to be safe, that my dad will be safe. That no one is going to try and fucking assault me into helping you – no one is going to threatened me or mine. That I'm not going to be bitten without my consent and, no, no fucking passing out and saving my life crap. If I don't consent you don't fucking turn me . That I'm not going to be fucking dropped like an old toy, that I can still work on Scott, that I have a say in decisions. Ground. _Rules_.”

 

Derek's eyes brightened, red bleeding in as he stared her down. The predator in him made chills flare up her spine, but she did nothing to mitigate the goosebumps that raced down her arms. Peter hummed, a growl tingling on the edges of it as he and Derek shifted ever-so minutely closer.

 

“Stiles,” there was hint of fang in Derek's words, “say it. _Explicitly_.”

 

She glared at him, straightening up as much as her petite frame would allow. “ Ground rules .”

 

“They will be answered,” Peter's eyes were too-bright to be his normal blue. “We have our own, in fact. But Derek's wolf will not be satisfied until it is certain you are committing. He won't focus otherwise. Once the wolf is certain you want to at least try, you will become pack if you find him acceptable, then he will be able to reason. Right now – he can't .”

 

Derek wasn't the only one, Stiles eyed Peter, noting the way the older man seemed intent on her expression – his ears twitching as if he was focused on her heartbeat, trying to discern any hint of duplicity. Turning back to the actual Alpha of this pack, Stiles took a slow breath before meeting Derek's bright, blood red eyes squarely.

 

“I'm going to be pack.”

 

And she was.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So. I did say I had the second part in the works. Granted that was years ago, but yknow.
> 
> So I kinda lost interest in Teen Wolf - didn't like where the show went, lost interest in the fandom, life got shitty, I grew up - usual shit. But here we are - a new part in the series. I can't say when the next part will be. I can only promise that I will try and regain some interest in the show - maybe rewatch the old seasons, we'll see. 
> 
> Some points: I know Stiles was rather agreeable in the previous part but that was a combination of shock, fear, the promise of belonging, and other factors. This is after she had time to analyze and think about it. And fact is - they've all kinda been shitty to her. So the walls come up, and the snark comes down. I didn't want her to be so easy and agreeable, but I also wanted to make it clear that it's something she does want but doesn't know if it's something she should want. It's up to you to decide if I succeeded.
> 
> For now, all I can say is that I hope you all enjoyed this part in the series.


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